


Baggage

by lonestarbabe (neverfeltlesscool), Pigeonsplotinsecrecy



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Addiction, Carlos is a sexy sweetie, Carlos just wants to know TK, Depression, M/M, Serious talks but fluffy, Substance Abuse, TK struggles to be vulnerable, mental llness, suicide talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23504110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverfeltlesscool/pseuds/lonestarbabe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigeonsplotinsecrecy/pseuds/Pigeonsplotinsecrecy
Summary: Carlos want T.K. to stop putting walls between them. T.K. is scared that Carlos won't like the real him.
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand
Comments: 7
Kudos: 209





	Baggage

T.K. avoids the mental illness topic when he’s with Carlos. It isn’t that he’s ashamed (but he is). It isn’t that he feels bad for being such a wreck (but he does). It isn’t even that the relationship is still so new (but, oh yes, it is). The thing is that it seems unnecessary to talk about any of it with Carlos. It never quite fits the conversation. Besides, he has a dad and a therapist for talking to. He's talked enough about it, and while he knows that Carlos is a good listener, depression and addiction just seem like perfect ways to drag down dates. Despite it all, Carlos seems so intent on knowing all of T.K, stripping him down so that he is naked and turned inside out. T.K. knows it’s that kind of vulnerability that makes relationships special, but it also feels invasive.

He knows that he can’t keep a wall between him and his boyfriend forever, but wouldn’t it be nice? Wouldn’t it be nice if he could be understood without having to be known? He feels the conversation coming, looming over him and shadowing the good times between him and Carlos. The room is quiet, and T.K. doesn’t have the will to fill it with his voice, but it makes him fidget. They’re just supposed to be having dinner. It wasn’t supposed to be a heart to heart.

Carlos isn’t stupid and clearly knows that something is wrong. He stands up, moving around the table to the other side. “What’s wrong?” Carlos finally asks, leaning down from behind T.K.’s chair to wrap him in a hug.

T.K. leans into the touch, looking up at Carlos with wide eyes. This moment could scare Carlos away. It could show him that T.K. wasn’t worth the effort or that T.K. couldn’t fit into Carlos’ ordered life. “Why would something be wrong?” His voice sounds like canned cheerfulness, preserved with vinegar, salt, and just a pinch of sugar.

“Because you’re scowling.” Ah, yes, the tell-tale scowl. He’s pretty good at hiding it away beneath layers of confidence and joy, but when he thinks too hard, his mask starts to slip, and a careful observer can notice the complexities that are beneath.

“It’s just been a bad day.” He says it casually because he doesn’t like to give bad the courtesy of weighing more heavily on him than they have to.

Carlos sits into the chair beside T.K., taking T.K.’s hand in his. “What happened?” Nothing happened, really, except that sick feeling in his stomach that rises up to his throat, making him feel like he has a peach put obstructing his airway. 

T.K. pulls his hands away. “I’m fine.”

Carlos rolls his eyes. “Yeah, clearly.” T.K. doesn’t want this to become a fight, but fights are a lot simpler than the truth. They’re pure passion, instinct, feeling. The truth is all of that plus a war with rationality, order, knowledge.

“You don’t want to hear about it.” It’s more that T.K. doesn’t want to talk about it, but that sounds cowardly.

“You always say that or ‘It’s personal.’ I don’t expect you to tell me everything, but it’s like you refuse to tell me anything.” Oh, no, this is going to be a fight. T.K. can tell there’s no avoiding it unless he spits some of what he’s feeling out, and now that he’s backed in a corner, he feels even more resistant to saying anything if only out of stubbornness.

He really didn’t want to fight. He’d always hated fighting. The beginnings of hot made him tense in panic and when voices were raised, anxiety bubbled up into anger. That’s when T.K. started yelling. Maybe he could salvage this situation. “Because the stupid things going on in my mind aren’t that bad. They’re not pleasant, but they can’t hurt me.” It’s vague, but maybe it’s enough.

“You don’t have to be on death’s door for your problems to be important. If they’re important to you, they’re important to me.” Carlos has all the right answers, and T.K. almost resents him for it. The right answers aren’t always the ones T.K. wants to hear.

“You don’t want to hear about it,” T.K. says again, putting the burden of his silence on Carlos.

“I do, I do,” Carlos says clutching T.K.’s hand like he’s afraid T.K. is about to walk away, which isn’t an unwarranted fear. T.K. likes to runaway when things get hard. He wipes whatever is bothering him from his mind until the nagging leaves him alone.

“Why?” T.K. asks. He can’t understand it. It doesn’t make sense that someone would want to see the real him. Carlos doesn’t know what he’s getting into. He’s a cop. He’s seen crazy, but it’s different to see it at work than in the person you’re dating. “I have so much baggage, and you have none.”

“We all have baggage, Ty,” Carlos says. “But if I didn’t, that would just mean my arms were open to help you carry some of yours.” The words make T.K. want to cry. He feels tears poking at the corner of his eyes but blinks the glossiness back. “You don’t have to tell anything you don’t want to, but I want to know you.”

“You don’t.” No one would want that. It’s messy and confusing and grim.

“I do,” Carlos insists.

“You don’t want to hear about how I hate myself. You don’t want to hear about how anxious I get or how I fantasize about substances. You don’t want to hear about how I think of ways to kill myself. You don’t want to hear any of that because you’d think something was wrong, but I’m okay.”

Carlos opens his mouth to say something, but T.K. stops him. He’s fired up now, and he doesn’t want to stop while he’s got moment and feels courageous enough to give this speech. “When I say I’m okay, that’s not me trying to minimize it. I really am okay. I take it day by day, but I’m doing better. I’m going to therapy and my meetings. I’m not perched on a diving board, ready to throw myself into the nearest drink. The rattling of a bottle of Oxy isn’t chorusing in my head. I don’t go to sleep hoping that I won’t wake up. So, yeah, I still have issues, and they’ll probably never fully go away, but I’m not letting them destroy me. It’s a war between me and myself, and sometimes, I lose some battles. I think the unhealthy thoughts, but I don’t act on them.”

There’s silence between them while Carlos makes sure that T.K. has finished with what he wanted to say. T.K. can’t meet Carlos’ eyes, wondering if he’d said too much. He feels a warm hand against his, fingers intertwining. “I’m proud of you.”

T.K. looks up, the nervous look in his eyes showing a hint of something lighter. “Was that too much honesty for you.”

Carlos lets out an anxious laugh. “I’ll take all the honesty you want to give.”

“Next time we have dinner, you get to talk about _your_ baggage.”

“Only if you cook for me.”

“Deal,” he says. “But I have to warn you, since we’re being so honest, that you’ll have food poisoning before we get to the baggage portion of the evening.”

Carlos makes a face. “Take out it is.”

T.K. leans in for a kiss, feeling a little lighter. “Perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading this. You can find me @ lonestarbabe on Tumblr.


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